Weeds

Won't somebody show me

Where the flowers are at?

Because all I see

Right in front of me

Are nothing more

Than wilting weeds

Who evoke a sense of sadism

From choking out every growing fruit

Blossoming like a flower

As the farmer mistakes the fruit

For the deceptive weeds

That do everything in their power

To choke out each and every fruit

Leaving the children to starve to death

In the process

The fields, to my eyes

Are filled with thorns, 

And I refuse to eat them yet

I know I have no choice

For weeds are what's in harvest

And although I taste blood in my mouth,

At least I'm alive, so I shouldn't be complaining

Although my teeth are crying out

For help, as they are choked by the thorns,

At least I'm being sustained by the thorns

And at least my blood has enough life

To sustain me,

So, I should be happy, because

At least, thank God, I'm still alive

But everytime I eat those fucking thorns

I wish for Death to nurse me in my

Time of trouble

For Death is the only parent I have

That'll nurse me with the milk I need

And Life is a negligent mom,

Who slams violently the car door,

Never to return again

So if God would grant this favor,

For I know not the taste of pleasing fruit

And allow me to stop, take a break,

And smell the roses,

Perhaps eating these thorns from

This fucked up barren field, would

Be much more bearable

For if I can't stop to smell

The beautiful aroma of the roses,

I might as well roll myself up

Into a ball, and roll into the field,

Where the thorns could finally grant my wish,

And choke me to a lifeless pulp.